


Guide Me Home

by Soriing



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Pacifist Route, Selectively Mute Frisk, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5779123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soriing/pseuds/Soriing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chara's not okay. Everyone knows that. Asriel? He's getting there, getting better. And then there's you, Frisk.</p><p>An exploration in Frisk, Chara, and Asriel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Burn

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multi-chapter fic, so let me know how the pacing is going.
> 
> Chara and Frisk don't share a body in this because I wanted to write them as separate characters with different physical actions for once in my life. I'll think of how that happened, Chara getting their own body.

Your kick your legs gently out in the air, back and forth.

 

The park is empty, which you guess is either from the heat of the summer day or from the goat-boy beside you on the swingset. Some people still aren’t too keen on the thought of monsters integrating back into society, but you’re working on them, being the Ambassador of Monsters and all.

 

Then again, it really might just be the heat keeping everyone inside.

 

The sun beats down harshly on you and Asriel, and you almost regret not letting Toriel rub sunscreen lotion on your arms and neck. Almost. You have a habit of rubbing your eyes, sunscreen or no, and the lotion stings. Even when it gets within an inch of your eyes.

  
  


The metal of the chains holding the swing up burns your hands, but you keep your tight grip on them as you swing into the air. You cringe when your hand slips down to a hotter section of the chain.

 

“Funny,” Chara says from somewhere behind you in the shade, “usually I’m the one getting you hurt. If it burns, just let go.”

 

You frown. Letting go would probably throw you from the swing and onto the ground, and you did  _ not _ want that happening again. The ground up rubber of the playground’s colorful cushioned flooring hurts more than the hot chains do. The newly-formed scab on your shin proves that.

 

“No,” you say. It felt good to be able to defy them when you didn’t share a body. Less risky, but more rewarding.

 

“Whatever,” Chara says. “Just don’t whine when your hands hurt too much to help Mom make pie tonight.”

 

“I don’t whine!” you say (and definitely not whine).

 

“Wanna bet?” Chara says with far too much enthusiasm. Asriel turns around from his seat on the swing set in time to catch Chara wipe the amused grin off their face.

 

“You mean like you do?” Asriel asks with a laugh.

 

“Azzy!” Chara groans lightheartedly. Chara gets up from their shaded sanctuary to tackle Asriel, arms wrapped tightly around his waist from behind.

 

You giggle watching the two struggle. Chara rests their head on Asriel’s shoulder and chuckles as he struggles in their tight grip.

 

You admit you’re jealous, sometimes, of Chara. Their tall frame would have been able to rival Asriel’s at some point, had Asriel not been a growing monster. They were older than you and Asriel, if only by months. Maybe they didn’t act like it all the time, but they still were. They were stronger than you, too. And they still know the Dreemurrs better than you do, Asriel especially. You furrow your brows.

 

Chara’s giggling now,  _ genuinely _ giggling and having fun. More fun than they had when it was just the two of you.

 

You reach over and tap Chara’s shoulder, just like when you shared a body. Chara looks over their shoulder at you, brow raised.

 

_ “I’m going to sit in the shade,” _ you sign.  _ “Too hot.” _

 

Chara nods and you quickly throw your back against the large tree Chara had previously been leaning against.

 

You watch Chara and Asriel from your new seat. Despite the incredibly high temperature, Chara is wearing their sweater and jeans. Maybe that’s why Chara was so much paler than you.

 

Though, you know there was more to it- Chara being covered head to toe at all times- but you didn’t want to ruin what you thought about them. Despite the breakdowns of theirs you went through when you shared a body, you still looked up to Chara in a way. When they weren’t hellbent on chaos or just really bored (which was really the same thing when it came to them), that is.

 

Shifting your attention back to Asriel’s struggles, you can’t help but notice that, when Chara turned around to face him, their cheeks were rosier than before, hair shiny with sweat from their forehead. You guess they’re getting dehydrated, using more energy than they usually do in this kind of heat. They never were one to be too bothered about themself, so you grab the water bottle Chara brought and left under the tree and dash over to them. You slow when the pair stops wrestling on the swing, Asriel shooting up and Chara wobbling where they stand.

 

Asriel’s arms reach out to wrap around Chara’s shoulders when Chara leans forward, hands on their knees, against one of the posts of the swing set. He flinches and draws his hands back before touching Chara.

 

“Chara!” Asriel says, worry- and the start of tears- in his eyes.

 

Chara waves a hand dismissively. “I’m fine,” they say.

 

“Are you sure?” the small goat monster asks, reaching out to Chara once again. His hand rests gently on their shoulder.

 

“Don’t be such a baby,” they say with a small laugh, “I’m just out of breath, no big deal.”

 

Chara gives him a weak smile and shakily stands up straighter. At this, you pick up speed to rush the water bottle over to Chara. They take it from your small hands and throw their head back when they take a gulp of the somewhat-cool liquid. Their sleeve is tugged down, ever so slightly with the movement, but you notice some of the old, jagged, pink and white scars on their wrist.

 

You smile, despite the gravity of the scars, at the lack of scabs.

 

“Thanks,” Chara says, wiping the dripping water off their chin with their sweater sleeve. “Now, we should get home before one of you dies from heat stroke or Frisk gets a sunburn.”

 

_ “Too late,” _ you sign with a giggle.


	2. Crybaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so short. This is a transition chapter. I'll try harder next time.

You hiss when you feel the sting spread through your palms and fingers as you pick up the pie tin. You drop the tin back on the counter with a clang.

 

_ “Where’s Mom?” _ you sign when Chara walks into the kitchen.

 

“Told you. Should’ve listened to me,” Chara says, pulling a chocolate bar out of the fridge.

 

_ “I’m not whining,” _ you sign.

 

Chara shrugs. “Then why are you asking for Mom?” They bite into their chocolate bar with a snap. “She said she was going to get more flour.”

 

You sigh. Can’t you just wonder where Toriel is without Chara being right all the time? Your shoulders drop, though only for a second, before you pick yourself back together. Chara is  _ always _ right, who are you kidding? Well, almost always. Mistaking  _ cups of butter _ and  _ buttercups _ still seemed impossible to you.

 

Chara’s notices your slight change in demeanor. “Hey,” they say in a soft tone, “do you want me to help?”

 

You smile weakly. Chara, aside from always being right, also never helps in the kitchen. Of course, this isn’t just because they don’t want to- they actually  _ love _ cooking.

 

You shake your head.  _ “Mom’ll be angry,”  _ you sign.

 

“As long as I stick to stirring, I don’t see the problem,” Chara says, breaking a piece of their chocolate bar off. They offer it to you. You pop the piece in your mouth with a smile. “Besides, we don’t need to tell her.”

 

_ “So you’re saying we should lie to Mom?” _ you sign.

 

“Yeah,” they say. The sweet taste of chocolate lingers in your mouth as you wipe your tongue across your teeth. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

 

You scrunch your nose.  _ “But it’s  _ Toriel _ ,”  _ you sign,  _ “she always knows when we’re lying.” _

 

They shrug, throwing the now-empty candy wrapper in the garbage bin by the door. “Then she’ll know we’re not lying when I tell her you kept me out of the knife drawer.”

 

You sigh and let Chara help. Your hands still hurt from earlier, so why refuse if they just want to help?

 

They bump you with their hip, making you stumble to the side as they pick up the pie tin to set it in front of themself. Chara rolls their sleeves up, just like they do when they’re knitting.

 

Are their arms red? It wasn’t like that earlier. And you swear they were doing  _ so well _ , too.

 

You stare at the long marks as Chara lines the empty tin with the soon-to-be pie crust. Are you just imagining things? You hope so.

 

“Frisk? Earth to Fri-i-isk? Hey,” you can’t quite hear Chara say, “what’s wrong?”

 

They follow your gaze with their eyes, head tilted to the side, to the crimson marks- they’re real, you aren’t going crazy yet- running down their arms. Their face reddens and they cast their stare to the floor. Chara pushes their sleeves back down the length of their arms in a swift motion. One hand instinctively wraps around the locket hanging from their neck, the other bunches up the yarn of their sweater by their elbow.

 

_ “You...” _ you sign, slowly continuing,  _ “I thought you were doing better.” _

 

Your eyes trail up Chara’s face. Though their eyes are cast away from you, you see the growing wetness in them. You reach out to touch their shoulder, but the tears start flowing. You draw your hand back.

 

“H-hey,” you say, your voice hoarse.

 

Chara bursts into tears when they hear you speak. It’s been weeks since you last spoke to them, to anyone, in place of signing. They let out a high-pitched cry, something you’ve only really heard once or twice. You hear Asriel’s heavy footsteps rush down the stairs after a few beats.

  
You wrap your arms around Chara as their chest heaves with each sobbing hiccup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Let's do something cute and nice and fluffy and-!"  
> What's that?
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!  
> going.


	3. Eat Your Heart Out

You sit at the small, round table, arms outstretched in front of you. You catch Toriel’s movements around the kitchen out of the corner of your eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the pie with Toriel. She’s upset, that’s obvious. When she’s upset, she won’t talk to you, not about Chara or Asriel or anything else that’s stressful and makes her heart hurt. She justs asks about what you want for dinner, or how school went, or how your day is going. Just small talk. Nothing important- significant, even. And that’s what bothers you the most.

 

Even as you think- never speak- these thoughts, Chara is upstairs with Asriel, not with you.

 

You tap your hands on the table, watching Toriel place the pie in the oven. What did she say it was? Chocolate-something? She changed the recipe after she found out about what happened. At least Chara will probably eat a slice now.

 

Toriel sets the timer, heading out of the kitchen with a ruffle of your hair.

 

You prop your chin up on your elbows, watching the pie grow golden in the oven.

 

You sigh, scanning your sore palms and fingers, callouses white against pink skin. You wish you helped Toriel with the pie after all.

 

You slide from your spot at the table and peek into the living room where Toriel is sitting in her big, comfy chair and reading. She has her brows knit together in this way that’s strangely comforting, strangely sad to you. From a certain angle, she looks a little like your mom- birth mom- does. Except she’s a goat. You can’t help but giggle before you turn to the stairs.

 

You reach for the handle of your bedroom at the top of the stairs when you hear a hushed conversation from the other side of the door. It’s muffled, but you can just make out the words.

 

“-just don’t understand.”

 

“Of course you don’t.”

 

“Can you help me understand?”

 

“No.”

 

“Don’t you want me to help?”

 

A pause. You imagine Chara picking at the hole in their jeans- the one by their knee- like they always do when they’re thinking.

 

“Not really.”

 

It’s quiet, probably the softest you’ve heard Chara speak. It’s a tone they reserve for you and Asriel alone, and no one else.

 

“Oh.”

 

You hear one of them sniffle- probably Asriel.

 

“Please, don’t cry.”

 

“I’m not crying.”

 

“Yes you are.”

 

“... So?”

 

“It’s okay. You can cry about that too, if you want to.”

 

“Cry about crying? You just said ‘don’t cry’.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“Ahahaha…”

 

The sound of rustling reaches your ears, followed by a creak.

 

“Do you trust me?”

 

“Do _you_ trust _me_?”

 

“O-of course I do! Why would you ask that?”

 

“... I’m sorry.”

 

“No, don’t be sorry. Please, that’s not what I-”

 

You twist the doorknob and walk in. Chara picks their head up- they’re lying on their stomach, the comforter of the bed wrinkling beneath them. Asriel’s looking at you from his spot below Chara on the floor.

 

 _“Pie’s in the oven,”_ you sign.

 

Asriel nods, but Chara just looks at you with their cold stare. You fidget where you stand. You let out an airy, nervous laughter (which is really just a weird, kind-of-laughing, more-like-choking you found relieves tension in the room sometimes- can’t laugh at a kid that’s trying and failing at laughing).

 

 _“Do you… want to come downstairs with me now?”_ you sign. You try to forget the memory of the red lines running down Chara’s arms, as red as their gleaming irises.

 

“In a little, okay, Frisk?” Asriel says.

 

You bite your bottom lip and nod, slipping back out of the room. You linger by the closed door, back hovering against it, worrying the skin around your fingernails, hands pulled close to your chest.

 

“You should talk to Frisk, you know,” you hear Asriel say, voice soft and non-confrontational.

 

“I know.”

 

“Then why don’t you?”

 

There’s a long pause. You think Chara might not answer, but they speak- quiet and hushed, like they know you’re still there, listening.

 

“It’s just hard. They care, I know they do, but it’s hard. Talking about this.”

 

Asriel takes a deep breath. You don’t hear him release it.

 

“I didn’t- I didn’t know it was _this_ bad.”

 

“Now you know it is.”

 

You stalk away from the door and downstairs to throw yourself on the couch next to Toriel. She casts you a smile before turning back to her book. It’s worn, and the spine is coming apart, but you can still read the title, _101 Facts About Snails_. A smile tugs at the right corner of your mouth. You scootch closer to Toriel, burying yourself into her side. She swings her arm around your small frame, moving the book further down for you to read.

 

You stay like that, in Toriel’s warm presence, until the timer for the pie goes off. You rush into the kitchen, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet.

 

The sweet smell of the pie makes home feel like, well, _home_.

 

With her big, pink oven mitts, Toriel take the pie out of the oven, placing it on the round table you sat at earlier.

 

You sit down in front of the pie, eyeing the chocolate (and butterscotch?) dripping from the scalloped, golden crust down the silver pie tin.

 

“Let it cool down first, my child,” Toriel tells you.

 

You look at her with pleading eyes when Asriel, followed by Chara, plod into the kitchen.

 

“Let it cool down,” Toriel says again, looking at you once more before retrieving glasses from the cupboard to pour milk for you and the others.

 

Chara glances at Toriel before wiping their finger up the pie tin, covering their digit in the chocolate that was dripping through the crust. They stick their finger in their mouth and smirk when Asriel looks at them with wide eyes.

 

“Chara! That’s really hot!” Asriel says.

 

Chara groans.

 

“My child, did you not wait for the pie to cool right after I said to let it?” Toriel says.

 

“It’s just chocolate, mom,” Chara mutters. You pat the table next to you, gesturing for Chara to sit down. They do, but flick your forehead first.

 

Toriel sets the glasses of milk down, followed by plates. You rub your forehead, the slight burn subsiding.

  
With all four of you sat around the table with pie on your plates, you can’t help but feel completely content.


	4. bait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i felt bad leaving this for- what, has it been a year now? yeah, well. i had 2 chapters in the making that i never finished. here they are. until i'm dragged forcefully back into the fandom, this is probably the last of undertale you'll see from me. it's kind of sad, really. maybe i'm just dramatic.

Waking up the next morning, you don’t expect to be so cold. You look down and find that  _ both _ of the blankets you had on were in a lumpy pile on the floor beside your bed. You think you see a tangled mess of reddish-brown among the fabric.

 

You slide off your bed, shrugging a jacket on. You tiptoe down the soft carpeted stairs in sock-clad feet. You glance at the clock on the oven in the kitchen. Seven forty-two. You’ll be alone until eight. You grab an orange from the counter and trudge into the living room, plopping down onto the couch and pulling a pillow close to your chest. You catch the tail end of a movie when you turn the TV on, popping peeled orange slices in your mouth.

 

The sound of an alarm goes off, followed by silence and then footsteps. Toriel’s up. You guess you’ll have to explain your red nose and puffy eyes (it’s not your fault the ending was sad!), and she’ll probably chastise you for not waking her up and sitting curled up on the couch, alone with the remnants of an oddly-warmed orange as company. She’ll also probably wonder why you’re still sitting through the rolling credits with its bowl-shaped peel on your knee.

 

Instead, she sees you shiver and wraps her sweater around you hear the clanking of pots and pans, cutlery, and whatever else there is in the kitchen, while she prepares breakfast.

 

You wrap her sweater tighter around you. It’s warm, and it smells like her- a sweet, refreshing scent, almost like a fresh-cut fruit in the summer, or newly-blossomed flowers in spring. You’re not sure what it is, but it’s comforting.

 

You tap the peel covering your knee, almost like armor.

 

After the next movie starts on the TV, Toriel comes out to sit with you.

 

“Did you enjoy dinner last night, my child?” she asks, her voice is soft so as not to wake your siblings.

 

_ “Yeah,” _ you sign,  _ “it was nice.” _ Aside from the... inappropriate pictures a certain someone made with their peas, yeah, it was nice.

 

“Yes, it was nice to have us all at the table for once,” Toriel says, soft smile on her mouth. Then her eyes light up. “My child, do you want to do something fun today?”

 

You nod excitedly, already signing as fast as you can. There’s this museum event going on, and you really,  _ really _ want to go with Alphys and Sans because they’d  _ love _ it, and-

 

What about the others?

 

Your hands slow down.

 

“What’s wrong, my dear? Don’t you want to go to the museum anymore?” Toriel asks.

 

_ “I do,” _ you sign,  _ “but what about Chara and Asriel?” _

 

Toriel frowns. “Asgore was going to pick them up today.”

 

_ “Was that why you wanted to do something with me today?”  _ you sign.  _ “Because the others wouldn’t be here?” _

 

“No, dear. It’s just a good chance for us to spend time together-”

 

“Like we never do anymore?” you say before you think. Your throat is sore, and it hurts  _ so much _  to talk to her like this. It comes out as a desperate squeak more than anything else.

 

“My child,” Toriel says. Her eyes are sad, and they make you feel bad. “Do you feel like we don’t spend  time together anymore?”

 

_ “No,” _ you sign. You hesitate.  _ “I’m sorry, Mom.” _

 

“Don’t be sorry. Now, after you have breakfast, I’ll ask Sans and Alphys if they want to go to the museum with us.”

 

She smiles down at you, rubbing your head, before sauntering off to the kitchen.

 

Some time near the middle of the movie, when you can smell fried dough and a salty smell you think are eggs, Asriel trudges down the stairs, his fur sticking up in every direction, blanket draped around his shoulders. He plops down next to you, a yawn escaping his mouth.

 

“Howdy, Frisk,” he says.

 

_ “Hey,” _ you sign.  _ “Didn’t sleep well?” _

 

“No, I slept fine,” he says with a chuckle, “I’m just still tired.”

 

His eyelids are heavy, fluttering when they fall closed. You hesitate before signing,  _ “What are you doing with Dad today?” _

 

Asriel perks up, looking more awake. “We’re all going fishing! It’ll be so much fun! Well, actually, Dad and I are fishing- Chara doesn’t like the smell, but they like the lake, so usually they just sit and chat and color on the boat with us, and then we go to this fisherman’s house and he’ll cook what we caught and-”

 

You give Asriel a weak smile.

 

“Haha, sorry. Guess I got a little carried away,” he says, rubbing his neck. “I was going to ask Dad if you could come, but Mom-”

 

“Frisk,” Toriel calls from the kitchen, “breakfast is ready!”

 

You slide from the couch, orange peel falling to the floor. You reach your hand out for him, but draw it back quickly before he sees your invitation and opt for just motioning for Asriel to follow when he looks up at you. He hoists himself up and walks close behind you after picking up the fallen peel.

 

Toriel’s already set the table. She’s holding a spatula in her hand, back to you as she transfers the last of the pancakes from the pan to a plate beside her on the counter.

 

You grab a plate and, with your hands, plop a few pancakes onto it. You really want that big one under all the others, but it would be a waste if you were the one to eat it. That doesn’t stop you from wishing, though. You shovel the hot pancakes into your mouth after pouring syrup over the stack of dough in haphazard circles and slapping a small square of butter on top. Asriel sits in the chair directly in front of you, knees pulled up to his chest. He still has a drowsy look in his eyes despite his earlier excitement. He pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he watches you eat. It makes you self conscious.

 

Toriel places a plate, similar to yours, but prepared with more care than the way you threw syrup over yours before she could, in front of Asriel. He eats slower than you do, and you wish you held yourself back to savor each bite, which you assume he’s doing. Your plate is empty, aside from residue from the syrup, which you’ve gone and wasted.

 

You mimic Asriel, pulling your knees up to your chest, but your shins don’t touch the edge of the table like his do. 

 

You don’t expect Chara do stomp into the kitchen, eyes trained and glaring at you. They’re fully dressed- ripped jeans and pressed sweater, black blouse peeking out from underneath the collar. Their hair is combed and styled in its usual way, with a deep part that makes their straight hair seem almost spiky, and it frames their face far better than yours ever does.

 

Your eyes widen when they, instead of lingering in the doorway like usual, walk right up to you and their face fills your vision. You can see your reflection in their eyes. Your hair is disheveled, and you know you look pathetic in your crumpled, wrinkled pajamas with you tired, unwashed face.

 

“You didn’t wake me up,” they say. It’s not meant to be a threat, you know, but your body stiffens and you ball your fists in your lap, waiting for the blow they’ve never delivered, and never will. Maybe it’s the proximity, the lack of space between you. When they were just a voice in your head, sure, they scared you from time to time, but they’d never been able to harm you. Now that they’re a tangible, ghostly pale body right in front of you, you can’t be sure of what they’ll do, even if, deep down, you know they couldn’t live with themselves if they actually did something to you.

 

_ “Sorry.” _ You give them a small smile, eyebrows unconsciously raised on you forehead.

  
They huff and sit across from you and Asriel, chin propped on their arm as they watch Toriel float around the kitchen, moving from counter to stove to cabinet and back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally the last time i opened this was in august of 2016.


	5. gasoline

The end of the school year, regardless of how great summer  _ might _ be in the god-awful American school system, sucks. It sucks a lot. It sucks even more when you thought that, for the past month, your adoptive siblings- one in particular- were getting along well with others. More specifically, the humans in your city.

 

You trudge up the hill to the bus stop, backpack digging into your shoulders. Just nine more days left, and you can be rid of the heavy-as-rocks textbooks for a few months. Then you go back to school, and do this again in the icy winter and the beginning of summer once more.

 

It’s hot, it’s early, and you’re pretty sure you missed the bus. And if you did miss the bus, you’ll have to walk because Toriel’s already at the school and you doubt that you could convince Sans to let Papyrus drive you and Asriel and Chara to school without him in the car with you. And “shortcuts” are out of the question. After all, it’s hot and it’s early, and, admittedly, you get nauseous just thinking about Sans’ blue magic around you.

 

Weeks after that scorching day at the park, you thought maybe it’d cool down some, get to a normal temperature. Except it just got hotter, unlike the distance from the equator would suggest. You’re pretty sure that this heatwave broke every single record there was before. It feels like it, at least.

 

Then again, you’re not covered in fur, so you must have it pretty good. You don’t know how, but Asriel got sunburn under all his sweaty fluff.

 

Basically, if you don’t die from a heat stroke by the time you get to school, you just know the school will kill you in some way or another. Or maybe those bullies that tripped Monster Kid will kill you before the school can get to you, and the school will just wipe its dirty feet on your corpse when it’s all said and done. That would suck, too.

 

You feel a slight sting in your shin. Chara’s kicking pebbles around the bus stop. You furrow your brows.

 

“What?” they ask.

 

_ “Stop messing around,” _ you sign.  _ “Too hot for that.” _

 

Chara shrugs nonchalantly, though their eyes give something away that you can’t quite put your finger on.

 

Asriel peeks an eye open from beside the stop sign, fanning himself with a bright-colored folder.

 

“You know that doesn’t work,” Chara says, eyes lowered to the ground.

 

“What doesn’t work?” Asriel asks, closing both eyes again.

 

“Fanning yourself,” Chara says.

 

“Says who?” Asriel says.

 

“Me,” they say.

 

“Well, it feels like it works,” he says. “And you’re not even a scientist, Chara, how would you know?”

 

“Ask Sans then. I know it doesn’t work.”

 

“You’re just being mean.”

 

“It’s not mean, it’s right.”

 

“You can still be mean if you’re trying to be right.”

 

“That’s subjective,” Chara says, looking up to find the big, yellow school bus coming down the road.

 

“See? There it is,” Asriel says, backing up for you and Chara, following behind as you get on the bus.

 

Chara slides into the seat next to you, hisses when the hot leather burns the calloused skin of their hands. They tug their long sleeves over their hands, despite the bus being a pre-heated oven compared to outside.

 

“Besides,” Asriel says from behind you, “I thought you promised Mom you wouldn't get into any fights until school was out.”

 

“This isn't a fight. It's me giving you advice,” Chara says. “And you weren’t even there when I told her, so how-”

 

You slam your hand down on the seat with as much force as you can muster, the loud bang of your palm on the hot leather startling the duo and all the other kids on the bus.

 

_ “Can you two stop?” _ you sign above your head for Asriel  to see. “Please?” you say, voice a pathetic, raspy whisper. The heat seems to close your throat even tighter, strangling the air you’re trying to shape into words.

 

The duo shifts in their seats, Asriel leans back into his and Chara fidgets beside you, hands in their lap, finger tapping nervously on their knuckle. They slide away from you, as far as they can in the small space you have to sit. You feel a little guilty, if only enough to notice the dull pain in your abdomen.

 

The bus ride to the school is hot and quiet and, really, you hate every second of it. Now that you think about it, the bus isn’t quiet, not really, not with the kids chattering about what their summers will be like, but it feels like a jail cell without your siblings commenting on even the familiar scenery passing by in the window.

 

The silence doesn’t really subside when you walk into the building and down the halls. You trail behind them, steps heavier than when you made your way up the hill.

 

“I’ll, uh, see you during lunch,” Asriel says, turning his head to look over his shoulder at you. He hurries off, splitting from your little trio and rushing to his locker down the hall branching from where your locker is.

 

Chara lingers in the middle of the hallway, upsetting many of the kids behind the two of you, staring off in the direction Asriel went. You grab their hand, soft enough that they can break away if they want to, and pull them closer to your lockers. Chara stops in front of their locker, hand still in yours. You’re being tugged back towards them. You look over your shoulder at them, and they say something, but it’s too quiet for you to hear over the chaos of the hallway. They let go of your hand and face their locker.

 

You think their eyes are more watery than usual.

 

You can’t focus as you put things in your locker. Mood swings like this are normal for Chara, but just yesterday they seemed like they were on top of the world. In fact, they seemed pretty happy for a few weeks now. Can one comment really make them this upset? You feel the knot in your gut writhe around at the thought.

 

The bell rings and the sea of kids in the hallway parts, everyone making their way to class.

  
You slip along the walls, hand occasionally running over the closed lockers and smooth walls. Your backpack is lighter, now that you’ve emptied most of its contents into your locker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to go to bed now.


End file.
